


Intervention

by hannahrhen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angel Castiel, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Hurt Bucky Barnes, M/M, Other, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Swearing, divine intervention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes is needed elsewhere. Luckily, Castiel has experience convincing the faithless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intervention

**Author's Note:**

> Ultron spoilers are minimal, but take care if you're staying totally spoiler-free!

“You—you what?” Bucky flinched at the raw sound of his own voice. He hadn’t heard it in days. Weeks? A long time, anyway, and now this man was saying—

“I heard you pray.”

And Bucky would have laughed if he was still capable of it, but instead he ground the metal fingers of his left hand together. Too far away to grab the stranger—threat—wearing the tie and long coat, and he didn’t want to—

Didn’t want to—

Didn’t want the attention.

Why the fuck had he gotten so close to Stark Tower, anyway? Just had to see if he could see Steve. Just get a  _look_. Just make sure he was okay, and now this threat was staring at him, arms down and loose at his sides, eyes wide and shiny-soft like the was trying to look harmless.

Nothing was harmless.

Anything—one—trying to look harmless was just—

_No._

And yet it was too much of a risk to run now that he’d been seen. Bucky—Bucky didn’t know what to do, goddammit, and for so long this was when the orders would come, when someone would make the decision for him, but instead he took a single step back—

And his heel hit the cold brick alley wall.

The stranger—the threat—didn’t move. Didn’t press his advantage. His arms just kept hanging loosely at his sides. His head tilted a little (assessing). And his expression was …

The last person who had looked at him like that had been (his mission) Steve Rogers.

“You prayed to me, James Barnes,” the threat said, and Bucky hadn’t seen eyes that blue and earnest in what felt like a thousand years, and if this was some kinda trick, it was just savvy enough. “You prayed, you’ve  _been_  praying, and I heard you.”

“I don’t pray.” He spat the words. “I never prayed.” Which was a lie, but the last time Bucky Barnes had prayed was long before this staring man had breathed his first. And he knew no one had heard it.

The man looked pained at that—yeah, savvy, he looked down at his shoes for a tiny moment, and then he said, gaze fixed once more, “You were heard, Bucky. Every time. The plan for you was … different than what you hoped.”

And that was the closest Bucky could make to a laugh, the weird little wheeze that clawed from his throat. Because holy fuck. Holy  _fuck._  “I was  _heard_.” His fingers clenched, and he could’ve gone at the man just right then, whether it would get Stark’s—Steve’s—attention or not. Barely held on. “So what does that make you, some kind of—”

And now he knew he was losin’ his fuckin’ mind—finally, God,  _finally_ —when the light from the sliver of sky dimmed and further darkened the grim alley, and the shadow of enormous wings was suddenly all Bucky Barnes could see.

“Castiel,” it said.

And “Angel of the Lord,” it said.

Oh.  _Oh._  “Finally losing it, huh,” he muttered to himself after it shut up, so quiet he shouldn’t have been heard.

But of course he was, because this was Bucky losin’ his mind, and his mind wasn’t gonna be nice about it. “You’re no less sane than you were yesterday, Bucky.” The man—it— _Castiel_ smiled a little, crooked and soft, and went on: “Or than you were seventy years ago.”

And, aw, hell, why would Bucky believe this any less than Norse gods doing battle on top of a skyscraper, or whatever in fuckin’ hell Tony Stark had created with vibranium, a marble, and the force of his sheer goddamned stupidity?

The Vision. _Yeah._

So now Bucky was gonna have a vision, too. Apparently. They were gettin’ passed around like cigarettes. 

(Smoke ‘em up, boys.)

“Why now?” Because that was the first and only question Bucky could come up with.

And the answer was quick: “The plan for you has changed.” Castiel glanced up and over his shoulder, down the narrow space between the two buildings that ended where car after car after car rolled by on the street. The place he’d followed and found Bucky when Bucky was—yeah, fuck—tracking Steve a little. Bucky’s attention snapped back when Cas said, “The need for you … is different. Now. You are needed.”

Yeah, great. And why did he have a feeling none of this had anything to do with Steve or his Avengers?

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Castiel,” he enunciated the name just as mean as he could, which wasn’t much since the only threat Bucky had left in him was fused to his shoulder and glinting dully in the gray alley and he _really didn’t want_ that kind of attention. “But I kind of feel like I owe you jack shit.” He shrugged that shoulder, just the one. “Know what I mean?”

Castiel snorted and offered that same lopsided half-smile. Rueful, Bucky thought was the word. The angel was talking then, but Bucky was more interested in that face. That expression. Full of rue—yeah. He supposed if you were an angel—if Castiel really was an angel and not just incipient insanity or the beginnings of a suicide routine implanted in Bucky’s brain—he had heard and ignored a lot worth rueing.

Eh, but … what the fuck. If Castiel was imaginary—maybe even some kind of slow-release poison meant to take care of the asset when orders ran out—at least it didn’t seem boring. At least it wasn’t (any more)  _pathetic._

At least it would give Bucky something to do other than stare at Stark Tower and grasp at each tiny glance of Steve Rogers’ new broad shoulders, new fancy uniforms, and same bright (beautiful) eyes.

Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence Castiel’s were the same color.

Bucky rubbed at his face with his own, warm hand. He wasn’t convinced this wasn’t his brain’s job shutting everything down for a long, final sleep, but, “All right.” He rolled his shoulders, both of them, and jerked his chin toward the alley entrance. Castiel blinked, finally, and his brows went up, and maybe that was a little satisfying. 

"So," Bucky said, turning his back on the Tower, the Vision. Steve, just for now. 

He stepped up to Castiel. Began again: “So. Where we goin’?”

**Author's Note:**

> I do have a track record for continuing these strange little things, so let me know if you liked it!
> 
> Also, [find me on Tumblr](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com/) fangirling and multishipping about everything, dammit.


End file.
